The Nana Gang. or Why you shouldn't sleep like a possum.

I was asked to post this little bit of writing that I have previously posted in a facebook group that I belong to.  I live to serve.  (Okay so the truth is I live to eat chocolate, read romance novels and spoil my grandchildren but I'll serve this up today.) 

I had this dream today.  I should explain that I sleep during the day and work at night just like a possum.  Anyway, I had this dream and I keep thinking about it.   In my dream I'd accomplished losing the weight I need to.  I must admit in my dream I looked mighty good!  So there I was all slender and sleek in my black skinny jeans and zebra print blouse, my dyed red hair fluttering in the breeze of a fan while my perfectly pedicured toes peeked out of my snappy little red sandals.   Okay so I STILL had thunder thighs but I had those when I was 18 and so sick I'd dropped down to 97 lbs.     And I was at the tattoo parlor.  

WHAT?   Me at a tattoo parlor?   What is even more shocking is that I was getting a tat.   Now for many people this might just seem normal but for me the idea of anyone sticking me with anything sharper than a cotton ball is reason to sob hysterically.  I have an extremely low pain tolerance on the surface.  Now you can break my bones, whack me on the head, attempt to shove a 10 lb 50oz baby out of my hooha and I'm as brave as marine.  But poke me with a Q-tip and I'll cry like a baby and bruise as though you used a lead pipe. 

But there I was at Fat Daddy’s Tattoo Parlor signing the papers for a tattoo.  Go figure.   As for the tattoo itself, it was a rather ambitious little project with tulips, an orchid and the words nana forever, forever nana.  

And this is the point that concerns me.   The words nana forever, forever nana as a tattoo is just so similar to the Hell’s Angels’ tats of angel forever, forever angel that I’m suddenly wondering if being a nana/grandmother is like joining a gang.  Have I now become a member of some secret society that wears leather, rides motorcycles, gets tats, breaks the law and the only way out is death? 

Oh wait.  Maybe I have.  Except our gang drives cars, little pink vespas, three wheel bikes and the occasional wal-mart electric shopping scooter all while wearing cute clothes which on occasion do happen to be leather.  We quite often break the laws of our grandchildren’s parents and we have a secret motto that only we and our grand kids know that’s “what happens with Nana stays with Nana”.   And yes, the only way out of this gang is death because no one would ever dream of leaving the nana gang. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that my dream wasn’t so far fetched after all except for the tattoo.  That tattoo and the corresponding pain concerns me.  Perhaps I could just get a henna tat.  Or draw it on with some glitter pens?   Or maybe just have it put on a tee shirt.  In zebra print with red sparkles.  

nana forever, forever nana

We rawk!  *makes all sorts of nana gang hand signs* 

Rawk on nanas, rawk on!